Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble 2018 prompts stocking/quantity and a little personal experience

"Did he come yet? Did he come? Did he did he did he!?"

"Shhh, Hepburn! For crying out loud! Let me go check!"

Ineffective whispering and comically un-stealthy footsteps nudge Kurt from his sleep. Not like that's difficult. He'd only fallen asleep about an hour ago, after he'd finished wrapping his hundredth present, back when the kids were still pretending to be asleep. He hadn't even cleaned himself up before he slid under the covers. He'd simply trundled to bed, dropped to the mattress, and passed out there. His fingers ache when he thinks about the sheer quantity of ribbon he'd curled. He's more than sure there's a piece of Santa paper lodged in the pocket of his pajama top, and a sliver of Scotch tape stuck to his hair.

"He was here!" he hears Tracy hoarsely crow.

Silence follows that proclamation, but not the kind he's praying for – that his two precocious children have decided to climb into bed, comforted by their knowledge, and go to sleep, willing to wait patiently for the morning – or the late afternoon – for Christmas festivities to begin.

"Well …" comes Tracy's expectant voice, and Kurt clenches his teeth, on the verge of tears, to be honest.

"Well what?"

"Go get our stockings!"

"You go get them!"

"I can't. I'll get in trouble!"

"And I won't?"

"They won't get mad at you. You're the baby."

"That didn't seem to help when I got teriyaki sauce on dad's new McQueen scarf."

"True, but you had that coming. That was a crime."

Kurt hears Blaine snicker behind him. Blaine always joked that Tracy was every inch her father's daughter, even if, biologically, she's his.

That remark pretty much clinched it.

"Should we tell them that we can hear them?" Blaine asks, sounding wide awake himself.

"Are you kidding!? Blaine! It's three in the morning! If they find out we're awake, I'll be up making pancakes, they'll be tearing their presents open, and we won't see our pillows again until midnight! Nope! I'm getting at least four hours before I have to leave this bed."

Blaine scoots closer, winding his arms around his husband's waist and hugging him from behind. "But … it's been so long since I believed in Santa," he says, pressing his cheek against Kurt's back, "and they sound like they're having so much fun. My brother and I … we didn't have fun like that. We never saw eye to eye on things …"

Kurt sighs. He knows this story, and it's one he despises Cooper for – how he took Santa away from Blaine by telling him "the truth" the literal day he turned four. When Kurt first found out that Blaine was related to the sexy face of the fastest growing international credit rating website, he was pea green with envy. But after getting to know the man, hearing about the many ways he tormented his younger brother …

Kurt couldn't count the amount of times he'd wanted to hide a layer of Legos in the carpet of the guest room during one of his visits.

Cooper may have matured with age, and since becoming an uncle, but it's still a daydream of his.

Even without turning to look at his husband, he can feel his wide, puppy-dog eyes burning into his soul.

Their little boy Hepburn, biologically Kurt's son, gets that obnoxious habit from Blaine, but he doesn't wield it nearly as well.

"I'm not going to win this one, am I?" Kurt mutters. He feels Blaine smile between his shoulder blades, and Kurt wonders when did his husband become their third child? "Fine. Why don't you go help them with their stockings? Just … do it slowly, alright? Give me an hour, okay? One hour?"

"Okayloveyoubye!" Blaine giggles, squirreling out of bed and racing for the door before Kurt even finishes his plea. Kurt burrows underneath his blanket, but he knows it's no use.

"Gaaah!" he moans when he hears his children cheer at the arrival of their father in the next room. "Well, Serta Comfort Sleeper, it's been nice knowing you."